


Death doesn't have to be a lonely business.

by ladyrocketdale (Maiucha)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: deancasbigbang, Gen, M/M, Person of Interest!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 21:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiucha/pseuds/ladyrocketdale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester's life went downhill in a year, or, actually, more than ten years ago when his family was taken away from him. He's ready to continue living hiding on the streets, faceless and forgotten as many others; but Castiel Novak finds him, contacts him and offers him a way back to life and, maybe, to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death doesn't have to be a lonely business.

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: pre-story character deaths, violence (not much heavier than what happens in the show), reference to child abuse (none around Dean or Castiel), mentions of suicide/suicidal intentions (yes directed to one of the boys) and reference to drunkenness/almost alcoholism (not more than in the show).

{ [art masterpost](http://namidanaoru.livejournal.com/2687.html), [original story masterpost](http://isabeautifulday.livejournal.com/12734.html) }

"We need not to be let alone.  
We need to be really bothered once in a while.  
How long is it since you were really bothered?  
About something important, about something real?"  
-Ray Bradbury, _Fahrenheit 451_. 

At some point in his life, Dean thought he could have it. The Apple pie life: wife, house, dog, 2 kids; become the example of the American family. That's how he was raised, a policeman for a father, a stay at home mother with a baking hobby that left some extra money, and a younger brother. The dog was missing, but Dean was sure that had it existed, Sam would have called him "Bones". He had a stuffed animal named like that, which Dean used to make fun of, even if he found it somehow adorable from his little boy eyes. Just like everything about his baby brother Sam. Sam. _Sam_. Sam, who should be turning thirty today, May the 2nd. Dean can't really imagine his brother being that old. He'd be tall, for sure, taller than himself. Sam had wanted to be a cop like their father when he was four, then a doctor after he got chicken pox at six, and an astronaut for a brief period at about ten, a soccer player when he was twelve and, at age fifteen, he decided he was going to become a lawyer. Sam would have been a brilliant lawyer, defending all the good out there, putting the bad boys Dean caught in jail for good. If he didn't end up doing some girly save the planet kind of law… he could have done that. He would have _totally_ done—

A soft noise, like the melody from a game, comes from the other end of Dean's bench in the park and distracts him. It comes from a kid that sat there without even noticing Dean, eyes fixated on the nest formed with his hands, where an iPod rests. Skinny, no more than eighteen, awkward, long limbs and thick rimmed glasses. Dean looks away from the kid, losing interest.

"Now that's a cool thing you have there," says a voice that regains Dean's attention. He can see that now in front of the kid stands a man; closer to Dean's age, about 5'6'' tall, not really well built, with a belly that shows he's been drinking more than enough beer, likely out of nothing better to do with his spare time and not actually to get drunk. You don't drink beer to get drunk, if you really want to get wasted you go for stronger things. The real stuff. And not the expensive, prissy kind of thing, no bourbon over twenty; anything that you could get on the supermarket for less than that can do the job faster than five bottles of beer. Dean knew that, he knew it very well.

"Can I borrow it for a bit?" the guy is pushing it, coming even closer to the bench, eyes switching from the iPod to the kid, back an forth, like an horny man staring at a chick's boobs and lips. The kid is doing a holy effort not to look at the man. He's scared, Dean can almost smell it, can almost count his accelerated heartbeat. He's clutching his iPod hard enough that Dean can see the white on his knuckles. Kids, Dean thinks, they don't know how to be careful and they want to show off all their toys, never mind where they were and who's around. Sam was like that too. He used to take his toy truck everywhere when he was five. Until that bastard Maurice West broke it. Dean broke Maureice's nose. His mother didn't make apple pie for a whole week. It was worth it anyway.

The man puts a hand on the bench close to the kid and Dean is not in the mood for this.

"Leave him alone," Dean snarls. The voice sounds strange to him, he hasn't been using it much and clearly bourbon is bad for vocal cords as it is for the liver.

"You said what?" the man turns his attention to him, taking a step back from the kid, who uses that moment to run away. He's not a total idiot at least. Sam would have stayed, Dean thinks. He was like that. He would have even said it was _his duty_.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" the man insists, and Dean hates people screaming at him. Screams are annoying, mostly now, when he's hyper aware of everything, nursing a hangover.

"I heard you, man." Dean mutters back without moving his eyes towards the man.

"Look, dude, you scared my friend away, so I hope you got something to share with me."

Dean doesn't even look up, but he dodges the punch the man throws at him. Before the man tries to deliver another hit, Dean grabs the wrist closer to him and pulls at it while getting up, he puts enough strength in the movement to dislocate the shoulder. The guy yelps with a mix of surprise and pain, yet before Dean can do anything else like leaving him in the floor in front of the bench where he clearly belongs, the sound of someone taking the safety off of a gun calls Dean's attention and he stands back, making a show of bad balance he doesn't actually have; acting drunker may be safer.

"Party's over boys, you're coming with us."

Out of the corner of his eyes Dean can see the kid from earlier and he sighs, unsurprised.

 

 

Police Stations have their own particular smell. Dean was not only raised around a police station, he also decided to build his life around one. What was still weird, though, was being on the other side of the interrogation room. It had happened once to him already, many years ago, but it was so long ago that it seemed like another life, like it had happened to someone else. In a way, Dean knows, it did happen to someone else.

"I'm pretty sure I should be saying thank you and not harassing you with questions here," the woman who enters is severe looking even if her voice sounds soft. She's trying the good cop approach; Dean never got to play that. The memory almost makes him smile.

"You caught us a very elusive robber that has been around that park for about six months," she says, giving Dean a plastic cup with water while sitting in front of him with a brown folder. Dean takes a sip, he doesn't want to sound as bad as he did before if he's forced to talk to her.

"And with just one swift move… you knew what you were doing, I'm guessing it wasn't a lucky grab," she gives him what could be a polite smile, Dean only shrugs.  
"Former military, maybe? It would make sense… good reflexes, the lack of violence towards other authorities and how you ended up in the streets. It's not easy coming back, less if you're alone when you do it."

That makes Dean look up, "no, it's not," he says, and if it's true or not is beside the point; he's aiming to get on her sympathetic side. He doesn't want her asking questions because anything he says can bring the attention of unwanted eyes and make him a target. He just wants to be gone without raising many eyebrows.

"I know," she says, and now her smile is almost real, the pity in her eyes unmistakable. Dean can play with this. "My name is Ellen Harvelle, what's yours?"

"What's so important about a name when there's no identity to go with it?" Dean grunts.

There's a knock on the door before she can say anything to that and a man on a well cut suit walks in with an officer. He looks like a lawyer, a lawyer that Dean didn't call and, for how he stands and dresses, that he can't even afford.

"I'm here for my client," the suit guy says, and behind him there's a cop giving Harvelle an apologetic look. She says nothing, takes everything away from the desk, nods at Dean and gets up, leaving without a second glance at anyone in the room.

 

Dean is outside the precinct a lot faster than he expected to be, with the lawyer to his side, and there's a black car with no plates parked right on their way. So much for a good ending to a bad day.

"I'm guessing the dude in the car is paying for all this."

"My employer would like a word with you on a neutral field."

Dean doesn't like the sound of that but he registers a pretty big guy coming out of the black car and opening the door for him and sighs. He didn't have plans for the rest of the day anyway. With a snort for his own thoughts he walks to the car and enters. The lawyer doesn't follow him and Dean finds himself alone in the back of car. Rented or very new, for it smells like fresh lemon, and there's another man driving that doesn't look as gigantic as the first one but he's surely trained, Dean presumes.

They don't drive for long and when they arrive to the back of a construction site right past the Queesboro Bridge. Dean wonders if they have finally found him; the fight with that asshole in the park hadn't been anything, but he did walk into a police station on his own, and even if he's dressed like a hobo, his hair is somewhat longer and dirty and half of his face is hidden by the beard, if you know what you were looking for, he'd be recognizable.

He wonders if Harvelle would identify his body once they were done with him. He snorts at for that idea, like they'd be stupid enough to leave a body. They will make sure he's dead, this time.

When the car stops, the same big guy than before opens the door for Dean, he grunts a 'thanks' and when he's out of the car he sees a man standing alone a few feet away. He's not really tall or big, couldn't be a match for Dean. He's wearing a slightly creepy trench coat that looks worn out and out of date. The heels of his shoes lack coloring and the back of his suit is a ratty black and rumpled; and Dean is the hobo here.

"I hope you're not aiming to get money from me," Dean starts jokingly, and the man turns to him. He has a two days stubble and a pair of piercing blue eyes that creep Dean out even more than the aftermentioned coat.

"No, I don't want money from you Mr. Winchester."

Dean tenses up at the rough voice and the used name, he's more apprehensive with this situation now; the man may look pretty harmless but he should remember that judging at first sight doesn't do the job right.

"I know that's an old name, so I hope it doesn't bother you if I use it; it's the one that fits better in this situation, I think."

"Look, dude, you know a name, great work at research, but I don't know who you are and I don't even want to know."

"But I know more than a name. I know you're Dean Winchester, even if you haven't responded to that in over ten years. I know you used to work for Kansas' Police Department and that after a bad decision and a sheer of good luck, for the lack of a better phrase, you ended up working for the government. Right now they think you're dead; yet you look over your shoulder at every corner waiting to see one of them following you. I know you've been drinking yourself to sleep to pretend to do something that resembles rest and that you live on the streets to hide. I also know that, right now, Detective Harvelle is convincing her lab tech to look at the prints she took from your plastic cup before any other work and that she'll find more than one positive match; but she won't be your problem, your problem will start if it reaches the higher ranks. And it will. I also know how to stop that from happening," the man pulls a smart phone from his pocket, "and I could do it, if you would just hear me out."

Dean can't focus on what to react to first, so he does his best at compartmentalization and goes for the immediate: he needs his prints put off the reach of any lab and any identification system. So he echoes the man's last words and says: "Just hear you out?"

"Yes, Mr. Winchester."

He looks around, the two guys that were in the car are now standing by its side, surely they're armed and even if none of them seems ready to hurt Dean, he knows they will be if needed. Dean is outnumbered, out of shape and there's that issue with his prints.

"Fine," Dean says without moving, "you work your magic and I'll listen. But we stay here while they stay _inside_ the car."

The man nods and moves slightly away from Dean's eyesight, directing a hand gesture to the two big guys. Dean turns in time to see them re-enter the vehicle; when Dean looks back at the man, he's focused on his phone, fingers moving too fast for Dean’s eyes to keep the pace. He looks up and says: "done."

"Really?"

"You don't trust me, Mr. Winchester?"

"You haven't given me a reason to."

Dean can see the man's lip twitch in what might be a smile and he moves to the left again making another hand gesture. Dean then hears the sound of a car starting and sees the black vehicle going away. He's sure they're still close, but if he tries something right now, either escaping or even hurting the man in front of him, the driver and his companion would be too late or take too long to stop Dean.

Now, Dean is interested. He crosses his arms over his chest and with a raised eyebrow says: "I'm listening."

"Well, I don't like having my associates on disadvantage, so I'll introduce myself, I'm Mr. Novak."

"Are we associates?"

Novak blinks at the question and Dean can tell he's annoyed about being interrupted mid-sentence.

"We could be, if you happen to be interested in my job offer."

"Job offer," Dean echoes.

"I could get philosophical with you, Mr. Winchester, and call it a _raison d'être_ , but I'm sure you won't appreciate that."

"No, I won't."

"Eight million people. You know what they have in common? None of them knows what happens next. Someone is murdered in New York every 18 hours. At the end of the day, one of these people will be gone."

"Those things happen all the time; you can't do anything to stop it."

"And if you could?" Novak asks, eyes fixated on Dean "Not things that happen in the heat of the moment or accidents. Many crimes are planned for days, weeks even. What if you could stop those?"

"You're shitting me."

"I know things Mr. Winchester," it's the calm reply, "I already proved you that. And like I knew about you I know a lot of things about a lot of people, mostly people who are going to be involved in very unfortunate, dangerous situations and they have no idea that anything's going to happen to them. They're ordinary people, living their ordinary lives. You could make the difference."

"You're delusional, man, that's what you are. There's no way anyone can know all that shit."

"The information I have, Mr. Winchester, is incomplete but never wrong. I don't have the abilities to find out more but you could provide me with those."

"So you want me for my abilities," Dean tries a suggestive eyebrow lift but gets no response. The man's face is cold and closed.

"You have an exclusive training that could come very handy given the situation."

Dean sighs at the reply, at the situation in general, letting his arms fall to the sides of his body. He looks up and straight to Novak's eyes before talking.

"Look, man, you need help. But not my kind of help, try someone who knows how to handle a crazy person," Dean turns and starts to walk away, then stops and turns again to face him. "I promised I'd listen, Mr. Novak, not that I'd accept. Thanks for the favor with the prints, do call if you want to chat about unlucky people again and your stalker hobby; but don't come sellin' at me, 'cause I ain't gonna be buyin'."

"Are you going to kill yourself, Mr. Winchester?" Novak speaks barely louder than before, but Dean has no issue hearing him. "Are you finally going to drink more than you can handle? Throw yourself under the subway lines? Jump from a bridge?"

Dean doesn't answer, he stares, waiting for whatever else the man may want to say.

"Because, I've been wondering why you haven't done it yet. It is because of your brother, Mr. Winchester? Do you believe Sam would think less of you if you committed suicide?"

"You bastard, don't you fucking dare to talk about Sam!" Dean lunches forward, closer, but that doesn't make Novak stop his speech.

"Or is it that sense of duty your father carved into your skin since you were a toddler? The same one that made you help your government, because that was what dad would have wanted his son to be: a fighter even at his worst. Not some lowlife suicidal vagabond." Dean is standing in front of him, yet Novak doesn't even finch away, like he's more worried with making his point than anything else. "Or is it because you don't want your mother to know that her brave older boy, the one who always stood up for his little brother, is no more than a coward who wants to end everything?"

Novak locks eyes with him before talking again.

"They're all dead, Dean. None of them is going to judge you if you do it."

Dean punches him, impulse getting the best of him. To Novak's credit, he takes it like a pro and he gets back on his feet cleaning the blood on his lip with a handkerchief.

"I probably deserved that," he admits, "but it doesn't make everything I said any less true." He puts the cloth on his pocket and looks again at Dean. "You have no reason to stay alive, Mr. Winchester, and I am only offering you an excuse to do it."

"Who the fuck are you?"

"A concerned third party," Novak replies. "How many times have you wondered if you could have saved your family if you hadn’t been on duty that very same night? How many times has that idea rolled around in your head, kept you awake?"

Dean grunts as a response, he doesn't even know if he could put a number on that.

"I can't go back in time and let you save them, but I can give you other people to save," Novak's eyes pin Dean in his place, "it's a lousy replacement I know, but I'd like to believe there's a reason why you haven't finished yourself off yet. I'd like to believe that the reason you became a police officer is still in you, that all you ever wanted to do was protect people."

Dean doesn't find an answer to that, so he just stares. He watches enough to see the slight wince on Novak's face. His cheek probably hurts. Maybe he should apologize for that.

"Though I have an awful habit of putting my faith in lost causes, or at least that's what I've been told," a sad outbreath and for the first time he starts to move away. "Let me know if you need a bottle of Jack Daniels, Mr. Winchester. If you're going to finish the job, better do it with some class."

Novak starts walking away and there's an annoying ring in the way his boots echo around the silent environment. Dean still pays attention to everything around him and misses the weight of a gun in his arm. He recalls the look on Harvelle's face when she mentioned being alone, the pity that was there; he thinks of Novak just now, recalling for Dean in detail that his whole family is dead, and there was no pity there. Just truth, facts, reality... things Dean can deal with, _work_ with.

Dean remembers how his mother didn't want him to be a cop, she had enough with worrying about one of her boys already. His dad had glanced at him with so much pride when Dean told him he was enrolling. Sam said they'd catch bad guys together, that they'd be a team of superheroes. Dean always wanted to be Sam's superhero; hell, just for Sam, he'll be the sidekick. And his mother did smile the first time he tried on his uniform. She hugged him, too.

Fuck, he misses them. But it's not his time to go join them yet. Maybe—

"Do I get a first name?"

Novak stops walking, but doesn't turn.

"I'm not calling you Mister or Sir. I'm done working for the government, so, do I get a first name?"

"Cas."

"Cas?" Dean asks, catching up with him.

"Cas," the tone of his voice says it's final. "Are you going to do something for your appearance or do I have to take care of everything?"

Dean doesn't twist the question on his favor as he normally would, his mind still unsettled.

"I'll take care of it," is the half minded reply before he asks: "Were you really going to do it? Get me the bottle and find someone else for this crusade of yours?"

"I don't think there is someone else, but I would have tried," Novak replies, then after a moment he adds, "and yes, if you had asked, I would have. I wouldn't hold you against your will."

"Not even if I asked nicely?"

"Weren't we having a serious conversation?"

"Yeah, I don't do those for long."

"Clearly," Novak stops, and points at the black car that had brought Dean here, "take the car. We'll be in touch."

 

*

 

There's a car outside the motel where Dean stayed for the past two nights. Where he cut his hair short again and shaved fully, cut-clean just like his mother liked it. He even dressed with the suit he found waiting for him on the bed. Dean hadn't worn a suit in about a year, it felt nice. The white shirt was soft on his skin and the jacket was the perfect size. He looked at himself in the mirror and popped open the first few buttons on the shirt, remembering that this was how he looked for his first mission with the agency, too. The car that awaits him now is also lacking plates and is black, but it's not the same than last time. He sighs as he gets in, muttering "show off."

"Not really," comes the reply from inside, Cas is there with his eyes on his phone, "just safe."

"Aw, Cas, you came to pick me up on the first day of work, should I feel special?"

"No," he looks up then and stares at Dean for longer than necessary. "Thank you for shaving and dressing properly, you won't be calling that much attention now."

"Is that your way to tell me I look pretty now?"

"If I wanted to tell you that you look _pretty_ , Mr. Winchester, I would," Cas says with his eyes back on his phone, "now, silence please, I'm working."

They drive long enough that Dean bores himself trying to get anything from Cas. He decides that he'll call him by his given name, or alias, just because it irks Cas a little, Dean can tell that much. Cas is awfully quiet for the whole ride and doesn't look up from the phone until the car stops. He exits in the same silence and Dean is about to start humming just to hear something when he discovers they've stopped inside of what looks like another abandoned construction site, or future demolition side, depends how you look at it.

"What is this?"

"They were going to build new apartments here, where this old library used to work. They were ready to break it all to the ground, never minding the books. So, I bought it. I don't think I saved the library of Alexandria, but it's something."

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Dean asks, following Cas inside, who apparently pretends not to hear Dean, "because it was kinda lame."

"The contractor thinks there's an issue with the structure and the bank who owned this for a short time doesn't exist anymore. So neither does this place, in papers."

"Just like you."

That does get Cas' attention; "I'm glad to know you can still do research, Mr. Winchester, but I'm going to ask you not to. I am a very private person, and I'd like our relationship to remain professional and polite."

"Yes, Sir."

To that Cas' lips curl up slightly, "I thought you were done with that."

"You earned it with that freaking out speech you just did."

Cas turns away and enters what appears to be the library's main room. There are bookshelves at every wall taking most of the space in the room, but to the left Dean sees a group of computers working and beeping, a few monitors and a board with listed numbers and some pictures attached to them. He walks past Cas and to the board.

"Security numbers," Dean says eyeing everything suspiciously, "you have security numbers, not names."

"Yes," Cas says as he reaches for a bag and empties all its contents on the side of the computer's table. "There are six identities here, all backed up, all safely traceable if ever needed. Just like in your agency days."

"Exactly how loaded are you Cas?" he asks with a sigh, but he's pretty sure he won't get an answer so he adds another possible lost question: "and how do you get those?"

"None of that is important now," Cas waves his hand. "There's a small cabinet behind me, locked, the key is in the first drawer of the desk next to you."

Dean moves towards the desk after a brief nod and opens the drawer. Behind some worn out papers and what he's pretty sure is a Burger King receipt, he finds the key. He's about to turn and go towards the furniture that the key opens when he bumps straight into Cas.

"Sweet Jesus," he curses, backing up the small space he can, while the other man seems undisturbed, "what are you, a ninja?"

"If I was that especially trained I wouldn't require your assistance, would I?"

Dean sighs and decides to drop it because he sees no point in following the conversation; also, he's intrigued to find out what's behind the magic door. It pays off: there's a handbag inside the cabinet and it's like Christmas. There are at least five types of firearms, a knife, and enough bullets to get him through many days. It looks like he won't need to dig into his personal and well hidden arsenal just yet.

"While I am not a fan of those," Cas is saying from the desk, "I understand they're a necessity."

"Of course you're not a fan of guns," Dean smiles to himself while pulling out a small Taurus PT99, good enough for his ankle. He grins when he finds his kind of deal: a .45 caliber Colt MK IV pistol, complete with ivory grips.

"This isn't a lucky guess, right?" he asks to Cas as he loads the gun.

"There are no lucky guesses with me, Mr. Winchester."

"Of course not," having a gun on his leg and another by his back makes Dean feel immediately secure. Even more than lying low in the street for the past year. Even more than when Cas made the guys in the car drive away. And then it hits him, this shows that the man trusts him, Dean could shoot him right now and be gone with – with whatever he wanted, and no one would ever know.

"If you're done with your epiphany, Mr. Winchester, I'd like to begin with our work."

"And he also reads minds," Dean mocks.

Cas doesn't answer to that and Dean wonders briefly if the man is immune to teasing or he's just too professional about it. There's also the small chance of him not getting it. He made a joke about the Alexandria library, after all.

"We'll communicate with this," Cas pushes a small earpiece and its matching mouthpiece in front of Dean and next to it there's a cellphone and a memory stick. "And this is for you, too."

"With all these presents, I feel like I should get you something," Dean half jokes but Cas doesn't even make a noise in response, too busy with the monitor to his left.

"He's on the move and so should you," is the verbal reply Dean gets.

"Who?"

"Rufus Turner, forty-two years old, ex-convict, he's out on probation since January."

"And you got his number, nice," Dean puts on the earpiece; saves the ID he thinks could be the most useful and looks up again, "what was he in prison for?"

"They found him with a stash, too big for personal use but too small to make a business out of it."

"Where is he going?"

"He stopped at the Paley park," Cas looks slightly confused for a minute, "he's just sitting there."

"Okay, I'll go pick up a pretzel and look around, do you want me to get you anything?"

"No," Cas' eyes are glued to the computer, "I'll keep you informed about anything else I find about him."

"You do that," Dean replies before leaving the library.

Once outside he turns on the earpiece at the same time he catches the guys from his car ride two days ago and waves at them. Of course he gets no response. He should get nicknames for them; they seem like the kind of guys who would hate nicknames and they didn't wave back, so they have it coming.

"You gotta tell me your friends' name," Dean says to the earpiece as he walks down and into the first alive street he can see.

"Go to the park, Mr. Winchester."

"You're awfully bossy Cas, I hope you know that."

Cas makes a noise that could either be acceptance or exasperation, Dean decides he likes the first option better and answers accordingly: "as long as we're on the same page about that."

 

It's a sunny May day at the park; there are a lot of potential, defenseless victims around. Dean counts twelve kids, a handful of teens and not enough parents paying attention. There's a man playing with a pack of cigarettes while sitting under a tree, he's observing his surroundings just like Dean is, but he seems more interested in the chance of lighting up a cigarette without getting reprimanded from an ecologist. Turner is sitting in a bench, from where he has a pretty wide open view of the park and even two street exits are on hand; he's not drinking the cup of coffee in his hands and he's trying very hard to pretend he's not watching everyone around him. Dean is almost sure he's pulling it off for the families.

"Are you there, Cas?" Dean mutters.

"Always, Mr. Winchester."

"Don't make offers your money can't cash, Cas," Dean smiles to himself, thinking there surely aren't any.

"Turner is inside his parole limits," Cas informs him, "yet he's pretty far away from his apartment for this to just be a healthy trip to the park."

"Figures," Dean walks to the food cart, "cell phone?"

"He didn't buy one when he got out or tried to reactivate his old line."

"Well, there goes my matching plan," Dean sighs, "how does his officer contact him?"

"House phone, and they have schedules visits each Friday at noon," Dean can hear the tapping of fingers behind the voice, steady and somehow comforting. "He's being an exemplary ex-convict so far."

"Of course he has," Dean scratches the side of his face before talking again, just a person away from the food cart, "last chance for junk food."

"No, thank you."

"Your loss," Dean says before grinning to the guy in the cart and ignores Cas' gruff on his ear while he asks for his pretzel. Well, Novak said he knows everything about Dean, so he should know he has a very special way of working, which is probably why he never held a partner for long and, anyway, he was always better working solo. Dean normally doesn't like relying on people. When he notices Cas is typing again his head repeats _normally_ and Dean decides he's done questioning what he's doing. At least until this job is done.

There's a small side on Dean's head that's still waiting for all this to crash down big and fake in front of him. He wonders if Cas knows that this case is a test for him. For them. For what Dean has learned from the man so far, he surely does. He knows and he knows he'll pass it. Dean wishes he could be mad at that; but he's mostly hopeful. Relying on Cas and on this whole job isn't the only thing he's doing, he's actually putting all of himself, all his last efforts on this. This or the bottle, this or the end.

The park where he's supposed to be watching over an ex con is not the place to have a _talk about feelings_ with his own self. No place ever is that for Dean, but this one is particularly bad. He needs a new strategy.

"Can you tell me how many cops are around and how far away is the closest precinct?"

"Of course I can," Cas says, and nothing else.

"You're gonna make me work for everything, aren't you?" Dean huffs, half annoyed and half amused, "well, tell me."

"There are two police cars at each end of the park, with three and four officers, none of them very concerned with the park itself. They're looking, yes, but they're far more worried with their snacks."

"Snacks are good," Dean offers with a mouthful, he's used to eat on the job so he knows Cas can understand him.

"The station is ten minutes away," Cas concludes.

"Good, awesome," he finishes his food and whips his mouth with the only napkin they gave him.

"He's not stupid enough to try something here, he's clearly waiting for something or someone. If he does anything risky right now he'll most likely get interrupted and end up with his ass back in jail," Dean reasons, "and you'll be watching him too."

"What are you planning on doing?"

"Well, tapping the only phone we can and checking out his apartment," Dean walks away with a general look to the park; he sees the red, white and black of a cigars' box on the grass and glares at it. Near, the former owner seems more interested with his phone now. Of course. Dean isn't one to care about those things, but he lived enough with Sam to feel some annoyance.

 

"How did he get this place?" Dean asks when he's standing in the middle of it, eying carefully for anything that he should be careful with. He's not sure what to expect, so he needs to have eyes wide open.

"All part of the project to re-insert him in the society, that's how he got his job in packing and storage for the 7-11 that's fifteen blocks away from there."

"Where I bet he's been a shiny employee," Dean doesn't even wait for a response before saying, "he has a TV so he's not a technophobe."

"Were you expecting to find a laptop and a cell phone just lying around, Mr. Winchester?"

"Hey, maybe you missed a tip or two, or he does shopping way under the table."

"I don't miss."

"Of course you don't."

Dean taps the phone, checks for broken walls, hidden tiles, flaccid floor lines… and it's all clean. Just like every cupboard, every drawer, under the mattress, under the bed and inside the oven. Truthfully, the man has been living here for five months and maybe he doesn't feel secure enough to bring anything he wishes to hide, but for all Dean can see, there's nothing here.

"This dude is cleaner than you and me, Cas," Dean sighs.

"We may consider him the victim, then."

"Yeah, I guess," Dean leaves the building taking the opposite route." Tell me something about his probation officer."

"Josh Mathew, retired from homicide, has other two in his charge, married, no children. Has a nice house and he also works on a community center four times a week."

"Does anyone in this case have a sparkling record?"

"Our number was in jail, Mr. Winchester."

"Technically, so was I." Dean passes a big guy on the deserted subway tunnel who hits his shoulder on the rush. Dean doesn't like rudeness.

"Saying sorry ain't expensive, man," he says, and the guy turns towards Dean fast but Dean's trained eye still catches the flash of a gun inside the jacket.

"Yeah, you should be saying sorry," the guy says with a nasty voice that surprises Dean; it makes him feel like he has a magnet for assholes lately, with Cas being the only exception to the rule.

"Whatever dude," Dean ends up saying mostly because he stopped hearing the 'tap-tap-tap' in his ear, which means that Cas is paying attention.

"No, I think you owe me an apology, and something else for my trouble, like your wallet maybe."

"Really?" Dean huffs, he's not in the mood for this, "and you're gonna draw out your gun out here at this time just for that? Are you stupid or somethin'?"

Dean hears at the same time Cas' intake for a breath and the movement of the fabric on the guy's jacket. Dean knocks him down. The corridor remains empty, he can hear the subway coming closer. He takes the guy's gun and disarms it, grabs it to decide its fate from here.

"Try not to call that much attention to yourself, Mr. Winchester."

"I don't think he's gonna report it stolen, Cas," Dean smiles a bit, "I'm going back to the park, is our buddy still there?"

"Yes," Cas answers, "do you plan to follow him around?"

"I want to make sure he goes back to his apartment, see how he moves around the city. You agree?"

"Mhm," is Cas' only reply.

Dean hums a Led Zeppelin song on his way back that he hasn't heard in over a year.

 

*

 

"I can't believe he went to bed already," Dean sighs, eyes on the closed windows. "I really hope he's plotting to leave at the darkest hour. Or that his killer gets on the move already and tries to attack him or… are you even listening to me Cas?"

"Yes," a big pause after that and Dean is ready to chime in with another complaint, "I'm sorry this lacks explosions and big massive plots, Mr. Winchester, I should have told you that was a possibility when I described the job."

"Ha, ha, aren't you a funny one?"

After that they're in silence again, the street underneath Dean is also pretty calm. A car passes by every ten minutes or so and Dean is pretty sure that said frequency will increase more at the later hours. There's no movement in the window neither on the building's door.

"So, Cas…"

A sound is the only response he gets this time, not even a word and Dean wonders briefly if the other man is tired, if he needs to put up with anything in the morning, for all Dean knows he's been in the library the whole day. Maybe he has a house to come back to. Surely he does. That's another question to ask.

"Where does it come from?" he asks first, because that was his original intention.

"What are we talking about, Mr. Winchester?" and there's a small side of annoyance in Cas' voice, alike to the one he used on Dean the first time they met, when Dean cut down their serious talk with an innuendo.

"Your name," Dean explains, " _Cas_. What is it, man?"

"It's just a name."

"It sounds incomplete," Dean wonders, he's fishing for anything that Cas will give him, any clue.

"Does it?" and of course he doesn't buy, Dean isn't even surprised.

"Like..." Dean thinks, if you can't smart them out, seduce them out: "it's such a short name for such a big person like you."

"Is it?" there's laughter in Cas' tone this time and that, Dean decides to count as a win. Even if it wasn't the original win he wanted.

"Aren't you tired? It's pretty late," Dean offers after what he thinks is reasonable time in silence; maybe a bit more than half an hour. He wonders briefly if any of his files explained how much he talked during missions, how much his contacts and handlers and officers had to say 'radio silence' to him. Wonders, too, if Cas read it. He's pretty sure that if it exists, Cas had read it.

"I'm perfectly fine, Mr. Winchester, are you tired?" even if not concerned per se Cas sounds at least interested, "I can relocate a vigilance camera or two on you and on Mr. Turner if you wish to rest."

"Nah, I'm fine," Dean is, he knows his limits and he's pretty far away from them. "I was just checking on you, wouldn't want you asleep on a desk chair."

Cas hums as reply and he's tapping again, for long minutes before explaining himself, "I have work to do."

"What work I wonder."

"Nothing you need to worry about, Mr. Winchester."

Dean decides not to answer to that and focuses on the noises, the ones on the street and the ones Cas makes: the tapping, yes, but also the occasional breathes, in and out, and those that are longer than the rest, the sound of gulping and pictures Cas drinking something, the changes in the air that could give the impression of the man moving around. He picks up a yawn or two, but says nothing about them.

Inside the building no lights are turned on during the night, the door remains closed and even less cars drive by. Dean finds some comfort in the lack of explosions and the peace, even if he doesn't let himself think a lot about that.

 

*

Dean gets a few hours of sleep while Turner does his shift at the 7-11, where Cas can check him out and hear him out if needed, or so he said. Dean would start to worry about exactly how much can Cas see and listen at some point, or he thinks he should, at least.

He wakes up in the hotel bed, more comfortable than the last one he's been using (when he used a bed). The hotel is also nicer than the last few he stayed, it`s not five stars, but it's closer to match with his wardrobe; also his back and legs say thank you if he's going to be working them out in regular basics like he used, he's sure they deserve it. He does what could be a morning routine even if it's way past noon and he's considering hitting the dinner he saw a few blocks away when he sees a text on his phone. It's from the only one person that has his number and it says "on the move".

Dean smiles to himself and says "good morning to you, too" to the empty room. Doesn't bother texting back and puts on the earpiece he took off to shower.

"Hey," he says, "where to?"

"Hello, Mr. Winchester," Cas replies with a steady, almost deadpan tone than could calm anyone down, "he's going to the same park than yesterday."

"How was his day at work?"

"Uneventful."

"Is that your fancy way to say boring?"

There's a pause and Dean is pretty sure he's getting no answer, when a soft "yes" sounds in his hear.

"You're something else, Cas."

 

The park looks the same than the day before. Some of the kids are even there as well, just like their parents are talking around, not watching everything like Dean, or Turner for the matter, is doing. There are two police cars, the exits are clear and the bastard with the cigarette case is under a three, phone out and a lighter on his other hand. Dean glares at him, just for the sense of inner justice. The pretzel cart is also there and Dean is pretty sure he could indulge again with all the going around he's been doing in the past day.

"Did he talk with his officer today?" Dean asks Cas while he's trying to find a spot to be a bit more invisible and a bit less uncanny.

"Yes," a pause, "they're not meeting tomorrow."

"Why not? Why didn't you tell me before?"

Cas makes an annoyed noise before answering and Dean consider it unjustified, he should have told him that. "Because the officer's wife is sick. Turner offered to go himself."

"Of course he did."

"They're meeting today."

"Really? What the fuck Cas?" Dean does his best to hide both the surprise and the bothersome the information causes him, "and when were you going to tell me that?"

"I just did."

"Don't play cute with me, man, it won't work when I'm mad," Dean sighs, "we're working together, I'm not pressuring to know where you get the numbers or where you go home or even how the fuck you got me off the police radar, but the information that has to do with the case? That's the one thing you give me, no questions asked."

"You were... indisposed when I learned it, Mr. Winchester," even if it's not an apology, Dean is pretty sure he hears it in the voice. That's when he remembers: Cas isn't one of his CIA officers, he's not a trained Intelligence supervisor with his agents. Any knowledge that Cas has about how the agency works comes from reading: books, reports, classified things even; but it's all reading, none practice.

"Sorry for snapping, man," Dean says, just because he likes the smooth relationship they've built in the past forty-something-hours and doesn't want it damaged so early. "From now on, anything about the case, we share it, it's that okay with you?"

"Of course."

Dean doesn't let the oddness the conversation took to creep more into it, he goes back to asking important questions: "where are they meeting?"

"The park."

"Well, that's weird," Dean says. His eyes are again on the people around him, there are a few more kids now, but everything else seems the same. "If he wanted to do something here I don't think he'll bring his officer to look around with him."

"He could still be a victim, Mr. Winchester."

"Yeah, he could," Dean lets the silence in. He sees as a slim, tall man comes closer to Turner, pasts him in the shoulder before sitting next to him. Turner doesn't smile but he relaxes a bit, even if he keeps eyeing park from time to time.

"I'm gonna get closer to them Cas," Dean explains, "should I try to patch the officer's phone or you think is pointless?"

"I trust your expertise in this, Mr. Winchester."

"And I'd like your opinion, _Mr. Novak_ ," he dislikes the last name, in comparison to the easy syllable that 'Cas' is.

"I think it's pointless." Cas replies and he sounds less solemn that a moment ago and that's good to ear. Dean focuses on the two men near him now, while pretending he's busy with his phone. They're talking nonsense, Turner even asks about the officer's wife. They're okay in each other's company; Turner has no issues with authority or at least with this man's authority. He doesn't seem like the type of recluse who'll want a ticket back to jail. The victim theory makes more sense as the time goes by.

Dean's eyes move away from them when a soccer ball rolls in front of them. At the naked eye none of them pays attention but Dean can see Turner looking around, even behind the kid that comes running for the ball. Dean catalogues everything: the kid, who's eight or nine, Turner doesn't look at him, there's a mother calling out for the kid, blonde, smile, your American soccer mom in action; Turner does that small relaxing gesture when he sees her looking at the kid. Dean doesn't actually understands that, he looks around the park again, trying to get what he's missing; none of the cops even noticed the action, the man who once played with the cigar's box is not holding the phone anymore. Nothing else is worth of his attention.

 

"Everything all right Mr. Winchester?" Cas' voice is lower than before, the usual rasp on his voice sounds slightly more sensual like that. Dean smiles to himself.

"Yeah, and I'm not even gonna ask how you noticed that," Dean backs away from the men, whom never stopped talking. At least, the officer didn't, Turner seems slightly distracted.

Not even ten minutes later, the officer leaves, so does some of the kids and most people in the park. Dean looks up to the sky.

"Hey Cas," he calls out when noticing the clouds, "let's add a weather summary to the things you'll tell me, okay?"

"Are you in need of a car to bring you back?"

Dean is about to say yes when he notices Turner going to a different exit that the one he made the day before, the opposite he should take if he was aiming to go to the subway station that leads him to his house.

"I think I'm gonna push my luck walking a bit more," he says tagging behind Turner, "either if he's going to put himself or others in danger, I should be around right?"

"Very well, do call if you need."

"I will."

Dean disconects the earpiece as he walks the small streets Turner decides to take. If he's trying to lose someone, he's doing a fine job at that, but at the same time, his pace isn't hurried or even nervous and he hasn't looked over his shoulder not even once. Just in case, Dean keeps himself outside of the view range.

Dean stops when Turner waits in a corner even if he could be crossing the street, he's not calling anyone's attention and to everyone but Dean he's just another new yorker in a hoodie looking around, thinking about the soon to happen rain. A man comes close to Turner and Dean has a hand on his gun just in case; turning his earpiece back on with his free hand while wondering why he even bothered to turn it off, he mumbles the address to Cas and asks if he's watching.

"I don't think you'll need your gun yet, Mr. Winchester," is Cas' reply and there Dean can see how Turner and the man exchange a package. Too big for drugs and, paper back or no, Dean can tell that shape anywhere.

"Well, we don't have a motive or a victim, but I think we have the weapon Cas," he says, "and I found myself another shared night with Mr. Turner."

The "mhm" that comes as a reply has a small concerned tone and Dean almost comments on it, but doesn't when realizing he's categorizing Cas' different sounds.

 

 

Nightfall finds Dean outside's Turner apartment again. He finished a cheeseburger from the dinner a block away, and is now on his quest to finish the fries even if most of them are cold and soggy.

"Do you like burgers Cas?"

"How is that information remotely important to you, Mr. Winchester?"

"You know a lot about me," Dean says around a mouthful of fries that swallows down with a sip from his drink. "And there's no way you can find it _dangerous_ if I know something about your eating habits."

"Anything can be dangerous in the right hands."

"Man, if you think I can use your like or dislike of burgers against you, you have way too high expectations of me," Dean admits with a grin.

There's a long pause at the other side, enough for Dean to over check his surroundings. He's in a car this time; for it has been raining on and off since earlier and Cas sent one for him. The street is as deserted as the night before, the lights at Turner's windows are off and no one has left the building since an old man and his yorkshire terrier entered about an hour ago.

"Yes," Cas' voice almost sounds like he's giving up and Dean can't help the snort.

"That's all I'm getting?"

"Yes," and now there's defiance in that tone and Dean grins to that.

"We'll see," he muses.

*

"He took the gun with him."

Dean blinks fully awake to that, "how do you know?" he asks, hoping it sounded legible enough for Cas to get it.

"He finished his shift, went back home, and is now wearing a longer jacket. Also, he just adjusted himself like you do around it."

"Like I do?" Dean mimics, "You've seen me getting my gun, what, twice? And you notice those things? Cas, you sly dog."

"It's my job to notice too, Mr. Winchester," Cas sounds completely not amused with Dean's comment and tone, "now, do I need to remind you that the man we think may commit a crime just left his house with a weapon?"

"I'm out already Cas," Dean replies back, he's still smiling, "he's on his way to the park?"

"Yes."

 

Luckily enough, Dean gets there first. After yesterday's rain the park is emptier, there are only a couple of teens on the swings and one family with kids is eating cart food. The sun hasn't yet dried the grass enough for it to be nice, but if the clear sky continues, it surely would be pleasant later in the day. There are police men in their usual locations and there's a man smoking in a bench far from Turner's usual. It takes Dean a second look to realize that it's the same man that has been on the past two times.

"Cas, can you do facial recognition from where you are?"

"I don't think I can get a shot clear enough, but I can try," Cas' replies inmediatly, "what worries you?"

"This dude has been around since day one, just like Turner," Dean says, while he pulls out his phone and makes a silly show of taking a few pictures; making sure the guy is in some of them. "Maybe, he's who Turner is after."

"It's a possibility," Cas agrees.

"Maybe Turner is considering doing a killing spree," Dean replies while sending the pictures to Cas; the man hasn't moved from his spot and Turner hasn't showed up yet. "Though, he doesn't look like the kind of man who would do that."

"No, he doesn't," Cas replies, "I have the pictures, I'll let you know what I get."

"Awesome," Dean agrees and catches the familiar complexion of Turner soon enough. "My friend is here."

Turner is walking straight to where the smoking man is sitting and Dean considers his chances. Taking out his gun can look bad, there are police cars  
around and he doesn't want to see Harvelle again or have Cas to pull him out that soon once more; also Turner can get the very wrong impression and start shooting, and Dean can't risk that with civilians around. So, he just walks to crosspatch with Turner; yes there's a chance this is just as bad as a plan as taking his gun out, but his guts tell him that this is the best he can do.

"What?" Turner's voice is rough, more being so close to him, and he sounds so honestly surprised that Dean almost relaxes. "What are you doing, son?"

Dean can use that on his favor, so re replies with a "you know what, old man," in the lowest, less threatening tone he can muster.

There's a sight at his ear, and it's not Cas, it's too fatalistic and too warm and too close.

"Son, move," Turner says and Dean knows that if they both were to take out their weapons, Dean would have it out first and he would be the one doing the shooting. Even if he's been chasing that man for the past days, he finds something in Turner's voice and attitude that makes him think that there's more to it. That there's a side of the story that both Dean and Cas don't know.

"I don't like smokers either, but I'm not shooting at them," Dean tries, and Turner doesn't back up yet.

"If I don't do it today—" Turner stops himself and stands better, Dean isn't sure why the change but he can guess it, they were spotted.

"Let's sit in your usual bench and we can talk."

"Why?"

"Because I am not letting you fire that at least until you've gave me a good reason."

"Who are you?" Turner asks, but he does walk to the bench; Dean uses the opportunity to check on the smoking man, who's _suitably_ looking away.

"A concerned third party," Dean replies and he's almost sure that Cas snorts back at the library, but says nothing about it because he's even more sure that the man would deny it.

"Why you have to do it today?" Dean asks when Turner says nothing, just glances around the park.

"It rained yesterday, there won't be that many kids in here; and if they come, it'll be later."

"You care, how _touching_."

"Mr. Winchester I got a match for you," Cas says in his ear and Dean mutters him to wait, still focused on Turner.

"He's going to leave and I'm going to have to track him down again," Turner sounds actually remorse about it, worried and even tired. Dean's eyes go back and forth between Turner and the man, who's not smoking anymore and who could, if wanted, get up and leave at any second.

"Why are you tracking him down?"

"'cause that bastard is out by damn luck and he shouldn't be, no one knows what he actually does out here."

"And what's that, Rufus?"

Turner doesn't even look surprised that Dean knew his name, he only sighs heavier than before.

"He's takin' pretty kids and sellin' them around," Turner says, spiteful, "and that's not the worst, what he does with them in the meantime if he likes them is."

Dean can't help it, he tenses. His eyes are on the man and he's tracking all the possible exits he could take and what Dean himself should do to follow him and how long it would take him.

"I spotted him talking with one of his buddies, a few times; no one cares for the lonesome black guy with the broken knuckles you know?" Turner isn't looking at Dean when he talks; he's also eyeing the man. "He didn't say much about it, didn't show it around, just talked it with other two guys, because you know, that kind of thing can get you neutered inside, maybe even killed. And the asshole isn't that much of an idiot. He kept saying his mistake was taking a shit where he ate, and that he'll be more careful now, that he had a better place to choose from to please clients without getting his own job on the line."

"Everything he's saying can be very much possible, Mr. Winchester," Cas says in his ear, "they were together for a time in jail. The man is Horace Crane, he worked in a youth center close to the park; he was in jail for mishandling money from donations, but the case wasn't strong enough and he was let go."

"Then why didn't we get his number?" Dean says, annoyed, mouth covered by his right hand and eyes darting from Turner to Crane.

"Because Mr. Turner's one was more urgent and determinate; if all Mr. Crane does is stealing money from charity even if not a good action it's not as vital as murder. And if there's something more, his crime isn't decided yet, maybe he takes a kid, maybe he doesn't, maybe he keeps one, maybe not; it's confusing and irregular, not enough certainty on it. Mr. Turner's actions were easier to read and plan. He has been indeed investigating and hunting down Crane, much like you've done with him so far."

"Listen to me Rufus," Dean talks, once he's sure Cas won't say anything else, "I believe you, but you can't take him down."

"That's not even a possibility, son."

"Yes it is, I'm gonna go take care of it," Turner snorts in response to that, "I am Rufus, and I'll do it alone, don't make me shoot you in the leg to stop you from following me."

Turner says nothing for twenty-two seconds, Dean counts. Then there's another sigh, as if he was letting things go with that breath. Dean can relate.

"If he's not dead or in jail by tomorrow I'm hunting him down again, killing him and then boy, I'll be after you."

"Sounds reasonable," Dean agrees.

Turner nods, once, stands and walks away.

After a minute Cas informs him: "he's watching you."

"Of course he is," Dean almost smiles, "as long as he doesn't get in the way."

"What's the plan now, Mr. Winchester?"

"I'll follow this guy, see what I can find, and if I see something that can incriminate him enough, I'll tie him down somewhere and call the police."

There's silence, Cas isn't even typing.

"You heard me, man?"

"I did," Cas replies, "you're talking seriously."

"Of course, Cas," Dean sounds just as exasperated as he feels, he can't help it.

"Very well."

"What?" Dean says, Cas hadn't questioned before, about Turner, so why now. "You said it yourself that Turner's story made sense, so…"

"I agree very much with your plan Mr. Winchester," Cas tells him, he sounds slightly amused and Dean is going to have _words_ with him for this sort of behavior. "I find it very clean and… not unnecessary violent."

"That I know and like firing guns and explosion doesn't mean I'm gonna be doing one or causing the other at every corner, Cas," Dean says with a glare that goes wasted on the grass. "Did you want that when you asked for me to join you?"

"No, not at all," Cas replies, with even more amusement, "I'm just being more proved right about choosing you, that's all."

"It's not like you had that many candidates," Dean says, getting up this time, stretching his legs and pretending to look around the park, as if he was deciding where to go next. He's still eyeing the bench where Crane is and can also feel the man's eyes on him; as if they're sizing one another.

"That's beside the point," Cas says and it takes Dean a moment to register the reply, busier with what's around him. Crane got up and took one of the routes out of the park; making Dean choose the best way out without looking exactly like he's tagging along.

"Turner still around?"

"Yes, but distant enough."

"Let's hope he stays that way for now."

 

Dean, and by consequence Turner, follow Crane as he walks away from the park and in a subway ride. During that time, Dean gets to see the man take his phone from his pocket twice to check (apparently) the time. Dean can't force matchmaking right now, not only because he's in a bad place for it, but also because Crane has seen him already and if Dean gets too close, he'll be suspicious. Turner for his part stays away enough, but Dean is aware of him and even meets his eyes when the three of them exit the subway station.

Crane enters a ratty building, even worst looking that some of the motels Dean has stayed, and that leaves him out of his and Turner's immediate eyesight. Dean is confident Cas is trying to find a way in, or whatever he can with this guy.

"I should be shooting you," Dean tells Turner, getting closer to him.

"You really thought I would let you alone in this, Mr. Concerned Third Party?"

"Dean is fine," he says with the hint of a grin, "and no, I didn't."

"What are we doing here, Dean?"

"You're going to sit out here and keep an eye on our man, you're not," Dean turns to fully face Turner this time, "I repeat, you are not, going to use your gun on him. You'll just watch him. I'm gonna go get some things we may need, and then we're spending the night."

"Okay," Rufus agrees, but he sounds wary, Dean can't blame him.

"If I leave and you walk in there and kill him, I'll make it my personal assignment that you take the blame and go back to jail; and it'll be your fault that no one could even try to get him for his crimes against kids, you see my point?"

"Yes."

"Good, 'knew you were smart," Dean nods. "Can I learn something about our new interest?"

Turner gives Dean a look but says nothing, Cas on his ear stops typing.

"Ex-convict like we already knew, he was out because there wasn't enough evidence against him; or the evidence went missing somehow after the man who arrested him was pulled out of the case for it not being his division, or some bureaucratic move like that."

"Not suspicious at all," Dean snorts.

"This location you're in is something he owned before jail, way before, at his mother's name actually, the woman is dead by the way and has been for almost five years. His window is the second one to the left on the first floor. I'm analyzing his phone records and if you could get in, we could know more."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"He worked for the youth center for about four years,. He helped train kids, most of his times he uses it there; he was paid for his job even if most of the money the center got was from charity there was some assistance from the state. Even if the center didn't charges against him, because of the weak evidence, they also didn't hire him back or not officially; but I can see he still goes there, I have him on camera. And well, he's been spending most of his afternoons in the park."

"Yeah, I'm gonna see what Rufus can tell me about that, and find a right time to break in and see the apartment, I don't want to tip the guy off on anything to have him walking away from us."

Turner is looking at him again with tiny eyes and a focused expression, surely at the mention of his name; so Dean honors him with his own attention.

"How long you've seen him going to the park?"

"Less than a week," Turner replies, "he still goes to the youth center in the mornings, offers to help or something, I dunno. After that he takes a walk around the fancy primary school that's between the center and the park, he never approaches to the kids but he tagged along families last week on some kind of spring picnic shit."

"The bastard probably doesn't want to take kids from the center and now takes his time choosing outside," Dean looks around, sees the lights turn in at some of the windows in the building in front of them, Crane's included. "Okay, here's what we're gonna do."

Turner looks up to him.

"Like I said, you'll say here, keep an eye on him; follow him if he leaves, I'll have someone checking on you, so behave. I'll get my things, we'll spend the night. Tomorrow, you'll follow him to his early routine and I'll break in; if the apartment has anything useful on him, when he's back to it, we'll make sure we won't leave it again and I'll call in an, _ah_ , acquaintance I've made."

"You have weird acquaintances," Turner replies.

"And don't even let me tell you about my _friend_ who got me into this," Dean grins back, "are we clear?"

"Yeah, we are."

"I'm trusting you here, Rufus."

"That should say something about you, son."

"That I'm all in for second chances, old man."

 

 

"What do we know about the people who arrested Crane, Cas?" he asks while he's on his way to meet a car he asked him to send with what he needs.

"The ones that original made the arrest were a couple of officers under Detective Robert Singer orders, they were all moved from the case by another Detective, Jake Talley, new kid that got pretty high pretty fast."

"That sounds like should be checked in by someone, even if not us," Dean says, "and hey, that dude, Singer, why does it ring?"

"He worked on Kansas for a brief period, you two didn't cross path for what I can read here, but maybe you've heard about him there. He's quite the example as policemen. Well, was."

"Is he dead?"

"Oh, no. But he's off service, possibly soon to be retired."

"'that old?"

"Not really, but maybe he didn't like to be moved around."

"Mhm, maybe," Dean musses, "I'll check that sometime later."

"As you wish," Cas replies, "should I put it in your agenda, Mr. Winchester?"

"Should you—my, my, Cas, was that teasing?" Dean smiles, accomplished, "Am I already rubbing on you, just after a few days?"

"Your car is there already, Mr. Winchester," but Cas sounds like he's smiling, so it counts for Dean in the board of points he's taking in his head at times.

 

 

Rufus is a pretty decent stakeout partner. He even chews silently, doesn't protest to anything Dean says or does, not even to Dean's random question to Cas (that aren't that many or even that random, he asks about the case mostly and doesn't even once wonders about anything Cas may not want to share, he decides to keep that private between them and also, Rufus is already giving him pretty odd looks even if not commenting). Turner can stay up like the best and his eyes are pretty hawk like when focused, easy to spot anything that should be noticed. Dean is partly curious about whom this guy was before jail, but in place of asking him and risking annoyance, decides he'll ask Cas to dig a bit. He's pretty sure Cas won't want to investigate just to satisfy Dean's curiosity, but maybe he can pressure or negotiate. Perhaps, with burgers. Or coffee, Cas looks like the kind of guy who would like strong, warm, coffee.

A little before nine am, Rufus asks Dean for his phone to call to work and say he's sick; he lies with effectiveness and clearly he hadn't use that excuse before because it's responded with polite concern and quick acceptance. They're out of the car at ten, just ready for when Crane leaves the building. Turner tags him from behind, not knowing he's being supported by Cas with his everywhere eyes and Dean makes his way inside the building. The job becomes pretty easy, pretty soon. Dean can't stop smiling.

 

"Oh, Cas," he says trying to contain his almost childish enthusiasm, "you're gonna love this Cas."

"Am I?"

"I'm turning on a computer for you to have everything that's in there, but these cupboards and closets are made of gold to incriminate a person, there are papers and pictures and even working notes… _working notes_ Cas, who does working notes?"

"I do."

"Of course you do," Dean smiles while he connects the wireless usb to the computer and sets it on for Cas to do whatever he needs to do while he snoops around some more.

"So, it's enough," Cas says, tapping quicker than usual.

"More than, there are some files from the youth center even, things he took from there trying to hide something; all this should be enough to keep him in and investigate further. We gotta get someone smart on this, make sure it doesn't end up in the guys who freed him before."

"I can make sure the call ends up in Harvelle's precinct."

It's playing with his luck, go to her. Dean knows. But she won't know for sure that he did this and she looks efficient enough to take care of it in the right way.

"She's as clean as she looks, right?"

"She's the only support for her and her daughter, she's prideful and wouldn't do anything outside the law; so yes, she is."

"She's our lady then," Dean agrees, "how is Rufus going?"

"He's outside the center; Mr. Crane walked inside a moment ago."

"Good, I'm gonna stay in."

"Do you think it's safe?"

"Rufus is a smart man, but he's not shadow, I could tell even before you told me that he was still around me; so Crane probably knows. Whatever he wants to do, he'll come back here first, get rid of some stuff before attempting to either disappear or contact someone else." Dean explains, "So, no, it won't be safe, but Crane would be more worried about what to destroy like to expect someone to jump on him."

"Very well," Cas says and he doesn't fully like Dean's reasoning, it shows.

"As soon as he's in, I'll let you know, or you'll hear, whatever. Call it in, okay?"

"Of course."

"Right," Dean takes off the usb from the computer, turns it off and finds himself a secure spot to wait.

 

He doesn't have to wait long. Crane walks in, eyes on his shoulder as if expecting Rufus to follow him, and Dean takes that chance: he's in front of him fast enough to not let him any time to react.

"They're on their way," Cas says, voice slow and soft and Dean allows himself a smile while moving an unconscious Crane to his own couch.

"Should have known you'd have all the fun," Rufus says from the door.

"Took you long enough to come up here, old man," Dean beams at him, "come on, help me to leave him tied up with a pretty bow for the cops."

"The cops?"

"I called the right ones in, don't get your panties in a twist."

"You better hurry, Mr. Winchester."

"Bossy," Dean says to Cas and ignores Rufus' grunt as they get Crane tied.

"I don't think he's gonna wake up in time to say hi, but just in case," Dean explains.

"What reason did you gave the cops?" Rufus asks.

"Proof that he's still visiting the youth center when it was asked him not to; plus a week of footage of him in dubious observations around a primary school and a park full of children. The call comes from Mrs. Willis, from the department across his, about his always violent behavior." Cas answers in Dean's ear and he repeats that to Rufus.

"Maybe he should have an unregistered gun and all," Dean says, Cas makes an agreement sound and Rufus gives him a pointed look.

"It's mine."

"Get one legally and give me that or I'll take it from you."

Rufus growls, yet gives it to him. Dean adds the gun to the scattered possessions.

"Gentlemen, please leave," says Cas.

"Come on, we need to be off."

They're in the car when Dean can see Harvelle and a small team of officers going in.

 

 

 

 

Dean first stop is at Rufus' building.

"Stay out of trouble, old man," Dean asks.

"Yeah, yeah," he has a hand on the door when he turns to Dean, "if you ever need backup..."

"I'll remember your name," Dean beams. "Let's just hope I don't need to come for you for any other reasons."

"You won't."

And maybe Dean is being a bit of an idealist here, but he believes him. Rufus leaves the car without another word.

"I should have a car, Cas," Dean says when he's moving in the city again.

"No, they're easy to spot," Cas replies, and after a second he adds: "Which you already know, you're just being an annoyance."

"You're catching up," Dean smiles.

"She'll figure out it was you at some point," Cas says after a few minutes of silence.

"Well, one more person looking for me won't hurt," Dean says, "even if she knows that I'm alive."

"I'll divert as much as I can, but—"

"Don't worry about it," Dean cuts in, "hey, if I leave this girl a few blocks away from my hotel, you'll take care of her right?"

"Someone would pick it up, yes."

"I'm gonna sleep like the dead, man," Dean smiles as he parks.

 

*

 

Dean finds Cas close to the same bridge they met after a day of sleeping and changing hotels again, just in case.

"You like this place," Dean says, it's not a question.

"Maybe," Cas still replies, he's sitting in a bench and he looks more interested in the sky than in Dean. "It's time for you to make a decision."

"A decision?" Dean echoes. After a second, he understands, "you have a new case uh?"

"I do, I'll always have a new one," Cas replies, "the machine giving me information won't ever stop working."

"You'll need to explain to me how that works, one day."

"Maybe," he uses the same word that before, but Dean doesn't find a 'yes' here. Perhaps he should run away.

"No one else is gonna take care of this, of them." Dean says it out loud, but waits no response.

"No one," Cas gives it anyway. "But it won't be pretty Mr. Winchester, not all of them are going to be like Mr. Turner. We're not making happy stories here, we're stopping ugly ones. It's not the same."

"I know."

"And at some point, we'll be found or killed, or, most likely, both," Cas explains, "you should have that in mind, too."

"Makes sense, I guess."

"I can give you an out now," Cas says, he's staring at the sunset with half focused eyes. "Enough money and identities so _you_ won't be found. Not even by me."

Dean smiles to the sunset, "and you'll do just that."

"I already told you that I won't hold you, Mr. Win—"

"Dean," he cuts in, "if we're doing this together, you're calling me Dean."

"I thought you wouldn't want anyone using that name," Cas replies, pensive.

"You already use the surname, why don't we go a little crazy?" Dean smirks even if it's unseen and unreturned.

"I do hate being interrupted mid-sentence, _Dean_ ," he says.

"I know," Dean's smile doesn't break as he gets up from the bench, "why do you think I do it?"

Cas does turn to look at him there, blue eyes focus on him and Dean is trying to discover something on them, but can't. So he stares back. It lasts more of what is polite and even more of what it should be comfortable. Dean finally gives in, lets his grin grow bigger and nods.

He hushes a simple "see you tomorrow at the library, Cas" and walks away. Peaceful for the first time in over ten years.

 

 

"The meeting of two personalities  
is like the contact of two chemical substances;  
if there is any reaction,  
both are transformed."  
-Carl Jung.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Story notes:_  
>  1\. The title comes from playing with "Death is a lonely business" by Ray Bradbury as suggested by my lovely artist, Mistina60.  
> 2\. The story plot is highly based on Person of Interest's Pilot, even if the case per and some evens aren't related with the show, most of the ideas for the interactions and situations come from there.  
> 3\. There are also direct quotes from Person of Interest's Pilot. If you recognize it, it's probably from them.
> 
>  _Thank you notes:_  
>  I want to squeeze my artist to death. She's been wonderful teammate on this and an immensely talented human to see work. Besides that, she was one of my biggest supporters with the story and the inspiration for the title. She spoiled me completely with the amount of art she did for my story, when she only had to do one. She gave me those adorable chibis, and I must admit I have strong feelings concerning chibi!Castiel's tie and chibi!Dean's face with crumbs. I can't even write how thankful and happy I am for her choosing my work to illustrate. Thank you Mistina60.
> 
> This work wouldn't be understandable for the English language if it wasn't for my two betas.  
> Lauchis, thank you for making my Dean makes sense and sound like ~~you~~ him and also for cutting right through my bullshit and help me to become a better writer.  <3.  
> Mkz, thank you for doing everything in record time and for your lovely fresh eyes on my work, your notes made me smile and yes, I decided to say exactly what dog because of you ;).


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